Forced (1st book in The Forced Series)

Chapter Eight *REVISED*

Chapter Eight

Hazel George was out of bed before the crack of dawn. Being in Van goth's unfamiliar apartment, in a city she had sworn never to return to and starving because of her mammoth sized pride were not the ingredients for a good night's rest. She took a quick shower, donned her usual cutoff jeans shorts, a ratty t-shirt and sloppy bun, then sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the door.

Her pride told her that going into his kitchen to raid for food was the lowest possible thing she could do. It was giving a lengthy speech about determination, morals and something or the other about not submitting to 'the man', but she was more inclined to listen to what her stomach had to say.

And it was saying plenty.

She was starved.

Dragging her hand down her face, Hazel silently cursed herself out for not being forward-thinking enough to buy herself food. She stood and walked determinedly out of the bedroom and straight to the kitchen to scavenge for food.

By doctor's orders, she was not supposed to miss a meal. She was supposed to eat three square meals and ignore fast food and snacks like the plague. But she was hungry enough to empty a half full pack of Cheetos while she scrambled some eggs found in the refrigerator. When the Cheetos had disappeared, Hazel went in search of bread, and was rewarded with half a loaf in a cupboard that she had to climb on a chair to get to.

"Food is a blessing." Hazel muttered to herself, foregoing toasting the bread.

She dished out two plates of scrambled eggs and bread, ignored the strawberry jam that was calling her name, put one of the plates in a heated drawer and then poured herself some coffee that she had put to brew. When she had finished, she stuck a note on the coffee pot for her supposed husband-to-be; telling him where the eggs were and that they were even. Even for what, she was not so sure.

'Ps. they're not poisoned', she added at the end.

Satisfied, Hazel then took her own plate to her room. She settled in the middle of the bed and stared at a barely started painting she was working on before she up and left Chicago.

Around 8, Hazel heard Van goth shuffle pass her door and into the kitchen.

If he had a problem with her using his things, Hazel reasoned, then she would simply eat his share too and leave him to do the dishes.

Not that she was going to do them anyway.

Minutes after, Van knocked at her door. She composed her expression and mumbled a 'come in' just loud enough for him to hear.

When the door opened and he said nothing, Hazel muttered an annoyed, "Yeah?"

"Ah..." Van hesitated, "Thanks for breakfast."

"Mmmh." Hazel replied. She tried to focus her thoughts on the painting.

"Our dads expect to meet with us in an hour." He added.

Hazel let out an audible sigh and muttered something under her breath, making no move to get up. She was sitting cross legged on the floor, balancing a palette of various shades of oranges in her lap and holding a thin brush delicately between her fingers.

"They want to discuss the... agreement with us." Van added.

Hazel finally turned to look at him. She scanned him, even as her brows creased at the news and she pressed her rosy lips, rolling her eyes, "I'll be ready."

Hazel looked cuter in the morning, Van decided. Maybe she had a better temper then too. Still, he did not want to test that theory; he had had enough of her hellfire temper from the night before. Swallowing anything else he might have said, Van made to turn and walk back to the kitchen area.